Thursday, February 9

Take It Sleazy. (Again?)

The following post is once again rated:
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For sexual content and dialogue.

An Open Letter To My Loud Neighbors, With Whom I Share A Bedroom Wall With.
-By: The CDP.


You probably don’t know who I am, but I know more about you than you think. Frankly, I know more about you than I ever really wanted to know. I feel the need to share this information with you, as I would want the same respect and disclosure given to me if I were in this situation.

You see, I’m your neighbor. We share a bedroom wall. I’m sure you’ve heard me from time to time. I'm the guy who likes to yell at the television when I’m angry, or talk loudly to my cats using embarrassing baby voices. I consider myself a person who keeps mostly to himself, but I’ve been known to cause a disturbance or two in my time. I sincerely apologize if these fleeting moments have ever made life difficult for you over there. It was never my intention.

For example, last week I was singing OMD's 'If You Leave' very loudly in the bedroom, whilst changing my pants. A friendly tap on the wall, and I would have shut right up.

I’ve lived on the other side of the wall for a year and a half now, and I like it here. I don’t know exactly when you moved in on the other side, but that matters not.

When you were considering these apartments for rental, you may have been drawn to the brochure bullet point that stated we have soundproof walls. As you probably know by now, this is clearly not the case. Sound travels through the walls like they were made of wiffle. ‘wiffle-walls,’ as I like to call them from this point forward. Because of these afformentioned walls of wiffle, I’ve had the misfortune of unwillingly being a part of your most private and intimate encounters. Here then, is the reason I’m writing to you today.

You two have sex a lot. I mean, a lot. Far more than most married couples, energetic high schoolers or even rabid young newlyweds for that matter. I don’t care if you’re married or not; frankly, I don’t care about anything on this planet that doesn’t directly affect me as a person. Unfortunately, because of these wiffle-walls, your bedroom business has become my bedroom business.

On Sunday morning, I woke up at 7am to hear the two of you going at it. This troubles me, mostly due to the fact that you woke me up five hours earlier than I wanted to awake. That same night, you continued your transaction from around 10pm-12am. On Monday, I heard you from about 9-10pm., and again from 11-12am. When I woke up on Tuesday at 5:30am, I heard you again. This 5-times-a-day minimum routine has been going on for at least solid week, but I'm sure you already know that.

On any given morning before 8am, I’m so tired I can barely walk to the phone to call in sick, and you two have already consummated your love twice. You have got to be kidding me. You're like the sexual version of the Marines.

This letter isn’t about the frequency or quality of your lovemaking, though. It’s about the volume. Weather we like it or not, we can hear each other, and we’re going to have to do something about it. I’ve made necessary steps to keep the noise level down on my side. I keep the TV and stereo to a decent level, I don’t shout near the bedroom wall that we share, and I’ve taken an unspoken oath of celibacy since I realized that our intimate lives have become a two-way street. I have a great amount of neurotic distain that far outreaches my deepest primal desires. I'll wait until you move if need be.

Speaking frankly, you are very loud people. I’ve never seen you and I don’t know what you look like, but you’re both probably huge. I image that you’re both a shade over 7 feet tall, weigh a combined metric ton and are genetically attracted to beds with rusty springs. I’m glad that you two found each other and made a vow; you deserve each other’s general company and hugeness.

When you get down to the business of getting down, however, it sounds to me as if a smaller person is trapped in between the two of you, begging and pleading for his or her life as you both beat him to death with aluminium cans and gutteral, piercing howls. That’s honestly what it’s starting to sound like over here. I’m considering calling the cops, for fear you have a secret prisoner or slave. On any given day in my house, it sounds like I have a cheap porno playing somewhere in the background.

Now look, I’m not one to disrupt a good time. I’m not the type who would bang on the walls and get angry. Instead, I’ve taken to not sleeping at all or NyQuil’ing myself into submission before even entering the bedroom. This is simply no way to live, and something needs to be done. My poor wife suffers the most, because she has to sleep not only with the sound of you two, but with an emotionally damaged husband next to her, questioning his every decision and life choice, while chewing his fingernails to the marrowbone. She deserves far better.

I’ll be positive. Perhaps you are attempting to conceive a child, and you have been consulting charts and cycles to maximize your times of optimum fertility. Good for you! I’ll have you know, however, that birthing a child will greatly hinder your extracirrucular energy and independent lifestyle. More importantly, I can tolerate your raucous behavior far more than I could ever tolerate a crying baby. I hate children.

I didn’t want this to become my business, but it’s directly affecting me in a negative way. It would be far overstepping my bounds to tell you to do something about it, but I wanted to bring it to your attention so that you may consider removing me from your private life. All I ask is that you keep it down a shade. Here are some tips for accomplishing this task.

1. Rearrange your furniture. Preferrably, move your bed into the kitchen.

2. Channel your sexual energy and creativity into a quieter hobby, like running a small sawmill out of your apartment. Better yet, focus all of your free time on writing unfunny essays and reviews on a semi-popular blog.

3. Slowly stop talking to each other and drift apart emotionally. Become mere acquaintances in each other’s eyes, and watch the fire slowly get snuffed out and replaced by television and microwave popcorn.

4. Do it on the floor.

There you go. I assume that you will follow my brief and simple demands. Not one to wait for a compromise, however, I’m proposing a very serious and creepy ultimatum.

Listen, jerks. I know who you are, and I know where you live. I can find out worlds more about you by taking your mail and sneaking into your house. I can audio (and eventually video) record your exploits and post them to this very page, and send invites to your friends and family. Soon, I’ll be putting envelopes on your car with pictures of the two of you inside. I will make you as miserable as you have made me, until you eventually move out of state. I haven’t slept well in two months. My chest hurts from having to breathe extra-hard through the comforter I’m wrapping around my head at night. This has to stop. You really don’t want me to snap, and right now, I’m teetering.

I hope this letter finds you well. I wish I didn’t know so much about you, and maybe a few weeks from now, I won't.

The CDP.

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As you probably know, I didn't actually send this letter to my neighbors. I instead prefer to sink ever deeper into my own personal hell and deny everything. If you remember from the first post on this subject, the Missus wasn't normally subjected to it, due to her early sleeping patterns. When the neighbors decided to up the ante and quit their jobs for a life of round-the-clock boot-knocking, however, the Missus took notice. Within 5 minutes of being mildly annoyed one night, she did something I should have done 2 months ago.

She actually wrote a letter. A real one. And she slipped it in their door at 11pm. Here then, the actual letter she gave them:


You don’t know me, but I also live in this apartment complex and share a wall with you. You may not be aware of this, but the wall we share is paper thin. I appreciate the fact that you are a loving couple and therefore do what all loving couples do in the comfort of their bedroom –unfortunately, I am getting a bit tired of being made a part of it night after night. This is a polite request to perhaps watch the volume on your nighttime escapades. It is beginning to cause me a considerable amount of difficulty in sleeping and also, quite frankly, it’s a bit uncomfortable to become unwillingly part of such an intimate part of your life. Thanks for your understanding!

It was a firm-but-fair letter, and I actually didn't want her to send it. My fear was that the neighbors would get into retalliation mode, and make things twice as bad. The fourth wall has been broken now. They know that we know, and that's weird for everyone. The logic behind the letter was that the noise couldn't get much worse, so we had nothing to lose. After 9 or 10pm, it becomes a valid noise complaint, just like if it was a stereo or loud party, so it's not like we were out of line or anything.

Look, taking sleep from me is easy, because I'm an insomniac. When you start to screw with the Missus and her 12-hour minimum, you shall feel her wrath. Now it's on.

More details as events transpire. Lost Friday redeems itself tomorrow. What a great episode.

I'm late for work and I'm crying from laughing so hard. I can't wait to see what happens next.
Hopefully nothing. We made it through last night with no disturbances, so that's a good start. I think we scared them for the time being, but for how long?
I think it's about time you got your own drumset.
I do have a drumset, it's just in storage. Nonetheless, that's a good idea. The next time they start bugging me, they're going to be subjected to 7 straight hours of 'Wipeout.'
I never really thought about it until now, but when anyone in the apartments next to me or above me have music on a bit loud, I can hear it. Which means they can hear semi-loud things that happen in my apartment as well. I'm surprised I haven't gotten letters yet.
See? It's a humbling realization when you notice that you can hear your neighbors very clearly. You then take a quick inventory of all the loud things you've done, and feel regretful and violated.

Everyone has an annoying neighbor. If you don't, then it's you.
Now that my amp is fixed, I can reinstate the Saturday Morning DIY Dance Party. This consists of me waking up much earlier than I should on a Saturday (like 10ish, I suppose), hauling my amp, keyboard, sampler, and drum machine into my living room and making music (loudly). Generally I would program in a relatively simple dance beat and then play keyboards and samples over it. My neighbors must not have minded, because no one said anything. And they damn sure heard it.
Saturday Morning DIY Dance Party (or 'SAYID' for short) sounds like fun. It would be fun to make pancakes to something like that.

Of course, at CDP Headquarters, I constantly have the Benny Hill theme playing, so there's not much room for anything else.

I'm not allowed to dance in the living room anymore, because the Missus can't stand my James Brown impression. I can assure you, however, that it's spot on.

I'm currently working on the Moonwalk.
I would record a loop and then make pancakes (with the fake blueberries in them) while it was playing. Also, I didn't bother to put on clothes, so all this is being done in nothing but boxer shorts. That's the fun of it.

I'm pretty sure you're not allowed to do any impressions anymore. The Missus pretty much doesn't like anything. Ever.
Impressions are becoming a no-no, which is completely insane, because that's how I made most of the friends I have now.

I meddle in impressions the way other artists meddle in oil or acrylics. Taking away my John Madden impression is like taking away Bob Dylan's harmonica. Or Tommy Smothers' yo-yo, if you will.

Boy, most women hate impressions, but I can do about 100 good ones, so I'm not quitting.
Next time, just forget the boxer shorts. That way, if people show up to complain about the noise, it'll be funnier.
That's a damn nice letter.
Ps. Sounds hot.

I didn't get a chance to thank you for last Friday, so hear it is:

It was wonderful to meet you and share an exciting evening of bowling and hyper-mullets. I found you and "the missus" to be a delightful pair, and look forward to seeing you soon!

Thanks again,

Woot and woot.
Saturday Morning DIY Naked Dance Party. I need a show on your CDP Network.
Thanks for coming 'oot, Banangela. It was a good time; we'll do it again real soon. Welcome to the wired world, by the way. Don't be a stranger to the CDP.

Aaron, we can podcast SMDIYDP ('SAYID'), it will follow Grilled Cheese America on the CDP Network. Like The Office is to Earl.
I can see it now. Streaming audio and video, thousands of dollars in merch, a brand new web host. The CDP will rule someday.
Holy Cr*p! That was the best post ever! If you think the thin wall is a downer, how many have had to deal with the stairwell projection effect? This phenomenon will take a sound created at the bottom of a stairwell and magnify it to Metallica levels. Quite a disturbing event when you live upstairs from a couple that likes to discipline their kid in the entry hall. DSS on speed dial? You betcha.
Lost last night did NOT dissapoint. I will refrain from commenting other than to say Sawyer's comment about Sun and Kate in a hot oil death match was distracting for the rest of the show.
And while you were watching boring commercials I was exercizing my mad skills with the remote and found Chuck Norris READING little known facts about Chuck Norris on the Best Dam Sports Show Period. I won't lie. It was awesome. UNtil Walker told Chris Rose he had AIDS.
Thanks for the compliment.

The stairwell effect doesn't sound like a very good thing; at least you can understand what I'm going through here. Tonight, we'll see if we can go two nights without a disturbance.

You had DSS on speed dial, but who should I call in a situation like this? Sue Johansson?

Oh, Lost Friday's shaping up to be pretty sweet come tomorrow morning. The episode was really, very good. Sawyer had some great one-liners, too. The 'Hot Oil Deathmatch' remark was divine.

I am officially searching the Interweb for that Chuck Norris clip. Now that he has become self-aware, he will either self-destruct or kill us all. Personally, I hope he kills me, because I can't live in a world without Norris.
Chuck Norris plays racquetball with a waffle iron and a bowling ball.

I had to sign up for a bog site just so I can write this post... but I just had to put my two cents in.

First.. AWESOME! I laughed so hard I had people here at work peaking over the cube walls to see if I was getting tickled. Just great stuff... I love your site. =)

Second.. Your misses did the right thing, let me tell you why. I have been on the other side of this situation. Our neighbors (not in an apartment.. I mean next door) could hear me and my hubby in the summer. They had their windows open at night for summer air.. and we had our windows open at night for summer air... and well, they could hear us. We had NO IDEA! It took them three (count them 1,2,3) summers before one evening... in the mist of our "happy time"... Our neighbors starts screaming at us from their bedroom window (I imagine their faces pressed up against the window screen) about how they are going to come over and break someone's neck. I could type every single word they said that night here (it is burned into my brain), but I won't because it is so obscene.

Next day, all I could think about was how long it took for them to say something... three years! They must have been insane every summer. They had to either sleep with a closed up house in summer heat or listen to us.

So, now we close our windows when needed and our neighbors? They gets an assortment of weird sex toys in their mailbox throughout the year for being such jerks about it and losing their cool.

Writing a letter before the problem makes you nuts will help you from not making enemies... You married a smart woman.
When people hear Chuck Norris through the wall, they listen and learn.
Thanks for the great compliment, Jessica; you made my day. Don't be a stranger to the CDP, I'm trying to capture that all-important online female demographic that has eluded me from the start. Come to think of it, it's eluded me most of my life.

Moving on, I really appreciate hearing your story from the 'other side of the wall.' I completely agree with you; once I found out that I could be heard, I got really self-aware and nervous. Perhaps now, the neighbors are wondering why it took so long for us to complain.

Your neighbors made the wrong decision, which was also the very same decision I was about to make before the Missus intervened. I would have waited and waited, until I fell off my nut and covered the bedroom with eggshell insulation. Oh, and I would have murdered the neighbors.

Imagining your neighbors screaming with their faces pressed against the screen made me laugh.

If Chuck Norris was my neighbor, this would be different. He surely would have roundhouse kicked someone through my wall by now.

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